


Joining Team Skull

by Isuvviaraq



Series: Property of the Inu [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Brainwashing, Cuckolding, Degradation, Dubious Consent, Gang Rape, Gangs, Hazing, Human/Pokemon Sex, Ice Play, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Masochism, Mind Rape, Mindfuck, Objectification, Personality Wipe, Pokemon, Pokephilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shaving, Shower Sex, Slurs, Spanking, Team Skull (Pokemon), ritualized rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isuvviaraq/pseuds/Isuvviaraq
Summary: Sheltered civilian Franky decides to join Team Skull during his rebellious phase. But this is one phase he won't be able to turn back from.Because once you've become a full member of Team Skull, there's no moreyouto go back to.
Relationships: Guzma (Pokemon)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Property of the Inu [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019422
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As hinted at in my last work, I have recently been... uh... 'acquired' as a writing slave for the rest of the month >////>;;;  
> Consequently, I'll be exploring a lot of fandoms and kinks I might not have gotten around to otherwise. So... enjoy!

His name was Francis, but all of his friends and most of his relatives called him "Franky." He was a Pokemon trainer with wealthy parents, grew up in a gated community, been a 'good boy' with A's and B's during his time in school. But during his rebellious faze, Franky made the best decision of his life: He was going to go to Alola and join up with Team Skull, the coolest of the Pokemon gangs.

They weren't hard to find, seeing as how they love to post their tags all over their territory. Just by walking in, his Pokemon were all forfeit the moment he encountered one of their Grunts. But when he came across a pair of them and said that he wanted to join the gang.... well, that's a little different. They looked him up and down. Right stature for one of their team members, light brown hair, just slightly pudgy... Definitely workable. "Maybe we got a spot for ya," one of them said. "But it's da boss who's gotta decide or not. You ready to meet him?" Franky was. But then the other one said, "Okay, but first... Ya gotta hand over yer Pokemon. If the boss wants ya, then there's no running off. If ya become a full member, then you'll get 'em back." He neglected to mention that he might not necessarily get _the same ones_ back, because it wasn't an important detail.

Franky hesitated at first. He couldn't help noticing that they hadn't promised to give his Pokemon back if he _didn't_ make the cut. But the grunts were pushy and impatient, and the sheltered private-school boy was intimidated enough to give in. A few minutes they were at the hideout, and Guzma was giving the boy a good looking-over. With that sharp jaw, that crooked smile, that shocking white hair, and those piercing eyes, Guzma made Franky shiver... but was it just excitement? "Yeah, we can work with this," Guzma said grudgingly in that trademark crass, tactless way of his. "But he's gotta get in shape first..."

Guzma even lifted Franky's chin and stared like a hypnotic snake into the boy's eyes. "Don't be so nervous, kiddo. Ya boy Guzma's gonna have ya lookin' reeeeeeeeeal pretty when he's through wit ya.... Pretty _cool,_ I mean." He was still laughing at his own non-joke when the other grunts - laughing along with their boss's humor - brought Franky into the next room.

First thing was to get rid of his clothes. He wouldn't be needing "civy" clothes now that he was a gangster. As Franky took off each item, the grunts laughed and laughed at each article, ridiculing him for how 'lame' his clothes were. He felt humiliated, having to strip in front of them, but at the same time it felt good to know that he was getting rid of his embarrassing 'civy' clothes. Then the identical grunts gave him a new set of clothes to wear - their basketball shorts, black socks and white sneakers, black tank top, black arm bands, skull cap, and bandana. He wouldn't get the Skull medallion until he'd earned it, they said.

Lastly, they gave him a pair of bright, red and blue boxer briefs - the hems of which he saw poking out above the grunt's b-ball shorts. When he tried to pull his shorts all the way up to cover them, one of the grunts gave him a light cuff on the head. "No, stupid, you gotta let 'em sag! Gotta let the boss have a glimpse o' that cute ass of yers." The other one nodded. "Plus, ya gotta be ready in case the boss needs up to gangrape some fags! Now hurry up and get dressed!" Franky blushed as much from the degrading treatment as from the mention of 'gangrape' being brought up so casually. Worse still, he was suddenly chubbing up from some masochistic pleasure, and pulling the pants down further only made it more apparent.

They started laughing when they saw his boner, and Franky felt sure they were gonna bully him again. Instead, they each threw an arm around his shoulder, hugging him close, getting all buddy-buddy with him. "Yeah, that's the spirit! Now yer gettin' it! Feel's real good, don't it?" He flicked a finger lazily against Franky's bulge, but that was all. "See now?" said the interchangeable grunt, groping at himself. "You like doin' what the boss says, don't ya? Makes ya feel reeeeeal happy." Relieved, and leaking a bit, Franky nodded. "Yeah... I feel great."

For his first-time uniform inspection, Franky would need to see the boss again. He hoped that Guzma would be as pleased as Grunts A and B were, and for a moment it seemed that way. Then those snake-like eyes shot him a burning glare. From where he sat on his bench, Guzma beckoned Franky with a finger. The new inductee approached nervously.

"Boy.... are ya stupid or something?" Guzma asked, so loud that everyone within an adjacent room could hear. Franky's ears burned. "w-wha..." Guzma grabbed at one of the wristsbands and shook it. "Ya put it on inside out! Don't ya even know how to dress yerself? Whadaya got to say?" "I-" "Shaddup! Pull them shorts lower and lay down." Sternly, Guzma spread his legs and patted his lap.

Franky hesitated again, aware that at least 5 more grunts had come in to watch the spectacle. "Didn'cha hear me, boy?" Fighting back tears, Franky pulled his shorts down below his butt and bent over the boss's ( _his_ boss's) knee. An expectant pause, broken up by a few chuckles from the spectators. _Smack!_

Franky gave a high-pitched gasp of pain. He tried to relax, but the laughter from the crowd made him tense and ashamed. "Stupid!" Guzma shouted. _Smack!_ "Stupid, whiney little mainland bitch!" _Smack!_ "Can't even dress yerself without help!" _Smack!_ "I'm sorry!" Franky squealed. "Shaddup!" _Smack!_

Franky was still holding back all but a few tears. His butt was sore and stinging, even with the boxerbriefs between his skin and the boss's hand. He really _felt_ stupid now, getting spanked and punished like a naughty child in front of the gang he was trying to join and impress. He didn't see the cruel smirk on Guzma's face as he dealt out punishment to the fresh meat. _Smack, smack, smack!_ "I bet you never do anything right, huh? Probably got called stupid at home a lot, didn't ya?" Franky felt the arm swinging toward him and flinched, but it stopped short. "HUH?!"

"N-no," Franky whimpered truthfully. "I was-" _Smack!_ This one was harder than the first few had been, and his ass was becoming more sensitive ass the spanks tallied up. "What was that?" Guzma demanded, raising his hand again. The boy cringed. "I.... In school, I al-" _SMACK!_ He howled, but at the same time he felt his dick stirring in his fresh new undies. Once again, he was discovering how good it felt to be degraded and whipped into line by his new family. Suddenly, Guzma yanked the boy's boxerbriefs down to his thighs. Now everybody could see his bright red ass with his aroused dick and balls hanging below, and they all laughed at him. The boss raised his hand again. "Ya got two strikes, kiddo. Lie again, and you're _really_ gonna feel it. I said, people at home used to call ya a stupid little fag all the time, **didn't they?** "

Franky shivered as a sob came out of his lips. No good disagreeing with the boss, he realized. "Y... yes..." " _What's that?!_ " **Smack!**

The trainer howled again and shouted, "They all said I was stupid..." Then as the boss's hand reared, back, he added, "They said I was a stupid little fag! They said it all the time!" _Smack!_ "And they were right, weren't they boy?" "Yeeeeeees," Franky keened, and tears started to stream down his cheeks. "They were right...." Guzma adjusted his seat a little, and Franky suddenly felt the gang-leader's boner poking him in the chest. Looking around, he saw the other gangsters groping themselves at the spectacle. "Yeah, that's right... You always were a stupid fag." _Smack!_ "Never did anything right in your civy life, did ya freshmeat?" "N-n-no," Franky blubbered, feeling his pride stinging as badly as his ass while his raging cock gushed pre onto his brand new clothes. "Yeah, I bet you didn't..." This time when Guzma brought his hand down, it stayed there and squeezed the boy's hot, scarlet ass. "Ya pale fuckin' mainlander. So stupid you can't even dress yourself right. The only right decision you ever made in your life was coming here to join Team Skull. Isn't that right, kiddo?" _Smack!_ Franky's hips bucked involuntarily, and he agreed as loud as possible, "Y-y-yes! Yes, boss! This was the only right decision I've made..."

"Ya know why that is?" Again, Franky flinched in expectation of a spank that didn't arrive. "Well quit'cher blubberin' and listen up, 'cuz yer boi Guzma's gonna tell ya." The trainer sniffled and did his best, finally managing to still his weeping to just the occasional sniffle. The grunts all fell quiet too, listening with rapt attention to a speech they'd heard many times before.

"It's 'cus yer an idiot. Yer just naturally bad at makin' decisions - nothin' ye can help. Tryin' ta think for yerself, yer just gonna always hurt yerself and be unhappy." Subtly, Guzma crept his middle finger between the initiate's cheeks and started to play with it. Franky gasped and shivered again. It was only the tip of the finger, and it hadn't even penetrated him, but his whole butt was so sensitive, and he felt the hungry stares of all the grunts on his exposed hole. "But now yer right here... you lucky boy, you..." He slid his fingertip in to just the first knuckle and gave it a vigorous shake. Franky moaned like an absolute whore, and he clung to his boss's legs as his own started shaking too much to support him.

Guzma continued to speak, and his words crept into Franky's brain like snakes, fucking with his head. "Yer a pale, clueless brat right now, but big brother Guzma's gonna fix ya. You just let _me_ do all the thinkin' and make the hard decisions for ya. Ya boy Guzma's gonna take gooooood care of yer faggit-ass." He shook his finger again, and it slid in a bit deeper amid Franky's musical little bitch-squeals. "Yer gonna turn into a sexy, fearsome, perfect grunt just like the rest of my boys. Stop thinkin' fer yerself and just do what I tellz ya, and yer gonna be happy forever."

He withdrew his finger and started to deliver 3 more powerful smacks to the shivering trainee's ass as he finished, "ISN'T! _smack_ THAT! _smack_ RIGHT! _smack_ " On the final smack, Franky tried his best to scream, 'yes,' and was... mostly intelligible... until he started howling with the force of his orgasm. Guzma grinned as he saw the boy's jizz spray onto the floor at his feet. All around them, the grunts were clapping and cheering. "Yeah, boss! You got him!" "Show that runt what it means to be a grunt!" "Nobody breaks in bitches like the boss!" "You show him, Guzma!" They were still cheering as Franky's climax faded, and he lay trembling across the boss's knees.

As the grunts finally started quieting down, Guzma gave the boy's back a gentle rub. "Atta boy! That's the way. Yer gonna learn real quick just how good it feels to be obedient. Watcha gotta say?" After a sniffle and a shame-faced gulp, Franky gave a shivery, "T-thank you, boss." Satisfied, Guzma yanked the trainee's pants back up over his sore bottom, trapping his flaccid dick at a somewhat awkward angle that made him limp a little as he stood up. "Now... what was yer name again?" "F... F-f-fra-" "Right, right, _F,_ " Guzma interrupted impatiently. "Should be easy for ya to remember, havin' got so many of 'em in school. A and B here," he gestured to two completely random and identical grunts out of the crowd, "are gonna take ya to the kitchen. I'm feelin' generous, so I think ye've earned a milkshake fer not makin' me waste all day breakin' ya."  
Frank-.... **_F_** swallowed and nodded. "Thank you, boss." Guzma turned his attention to the grunts who came forward. "Afterward, you can show him where the laundry is, and then...." He smirked and groped at his raging bulge. "Dye his hair to a better color." "You got it boss!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I need to be like them. I need to act like them. I need to look just like them. I need to fit in with them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this one in a document, this time, so the formatting's not so crap.
> 
> As in my previous work in this series, the terms "boy" and "kiddo" are just terms of endearment/degradation in this fic, not actual remarks upon the characters ages.

F expected, Guzma being the gang leader and all that, that he’d been lucky enough to receive an audience twice in one day. So when he was leaning back getting his hair dyed, and he suddenly heard the boss ask, “How’s it comin’?” from only 3 feet away, he started a little. 

The grunt behind him held back a chuckle by an audible effort. “Good so far, boss. Brat’s hair was so light to start with, it didn’t take much bleach.” F felt himself blushing under his new bandana. ‘ _Brat._ ’ Half a dozen grunts had already called him that after hearing the boss use the term. It made him long for the induction to be over so he would look just like the rest. Right now, every way in which he stood out just made him an object of ridicule.

“Good,” Guzma said with a grin. Then he turned those haunting eyes on his new recruit. “Sooooo… How didja like the milkshake? Pretty good, right?”

“Yeah. Delicious!” F said with… slightly forced enthusiasm. It _was_ a pretty good milkshake, but… in the interest of absolute honesty, Franky- … **_F_** thought he had tasted a better one before. There was something slightly off about the taste of this one.  
  


“Glad to hear it! You’ll be getting’ lotsa those during the next week or two.” Guzma didn’t see fit to mention that the milkshakes they made at base were made with designer supplement powder, packed with protein and other nutrients to help the Team Skull grunts develop their light muscle tone – all with sixpacks easily missed under their baggy clothes. 

With his clothes and his new hair, F was starting to feel a lot more like he belonged, but things weren’t quite so decided as far as his new brethren were concerned. His pale skin, the light hair on his arms and shins, and his slightly pudgy build still marked him as the newcomer. And the rest of the grunts, so finely tuned to notice even a difference in speech patterns, were quick to amuse themselves at his expense.

When they went to dinner – the one meal of the day where the whole team ate together instead of fending for themselves – F started to take a seat about halfway down the table from Guzma’s right. But when he reached toward a chair, a grunt he hadn’t met yet (probably?) jerked his wrist back. “Not there, freshmeat. Sit at the end.”

The new initiate felt himself pale a little. “O-okay.”

“Hey, don’t gimme that look!” said the grunt who’d accosted him. “I’m doin’ ya a favor here!”  
  


Another one piped up, “Yeah, you don’t want the boss’s boyfriend ta see ya when ya still got hair on yer skin, do ya?” Without asking more questions, F moved sheepishly to the chair pointed out to him – getting occasional nudges from grunts who thought he wasn’t moving fast enough. As he sat down, though, he tried to reason out why the revelation that Boss Guzma had a boyfriend made him feel slightly… disturbed?  
  
Perhaps because after feeling how Guzma had gotten so hard while spanking and fingering him, he’d come to think of the ranks of grunts as a kind of ‘harem’ for the boss. They were all his type, right? Wasn’t that the point of the whole uniform and identical look? So what kind of grunt could it be who merited a special rank above the rest?

A minute or two into dinner, his question was answered. “Guzma!” called a somewhat high voice with accents very different to the other grunts. When F took a look, he was surprised to see not a grunt, but a blond haired, blue eyed ace trainer in a blue jacket even paler than himself.

Guzma, who’d been eating his food with a look caught between ‘placid’ and ‘brooding,’ brightened instantly. “Welcome home, Ezri baby! C’mon take a seat wit yer boy!” And as he watched, F saw the boss stand, take his boyfriend into arms, and work his lecherous fingers around the blonde’s ass while they made out for all to see. He decided to give extra focus to his meal after that, and he noticed in passing that most of the other grunts were doing the same.

That night, before going to bed, a pair of grunts pulled him aside and into the bathroom. “Alright, look bro, the hair is just gross,” one of them said frankly, and he carelessly grabbed a pinch on the newbie’s forearm and tugged.  
  
“Ow!” F tried to pull his arm out of reach, but the second grunt grabbed his bicep so he couldn’t get away.

“We’re already sick of lookin’ at it,” the first one continued. “You wanna lose it, dontcha?”

Blood rushed up to F’s face. “Well… yeah, of course! I w-wanna fit in!”

“Then we gotta get rid of it. Come on.” Unrelenting, the two grunts pulled him deeper into the bathroom, then had him take off his uniform, but leave the cap and bandana on. Then in front of a full-length mirror, they started to lather him up with foam – which they had stashed in industrial quantities. “This is the only time you get a full-body shave from us,” Grunt A admonished. “So ya can see how it’s done right.” 

Grunt B applied his razor and swiped the unsightly hair away from F’s underarm. “After this, you only get help for your back and your ass. You’re on yer own for the rest, got it?”

“G-got it,” F echoed. He blushed as he watched himself in the mirror, seeing the white foam swept away to leave only his smooth pasty complexion behind. He felt especially glad that his hair was so thin and light to begin with, so it didn’t take as long as it might have. Even so, it must have taken a full 15 minutes for them to go over his entire body, from his pits, to his chest, his crotch, his balls (which almost made him whimper with terror), and all the way down to his ankles. All the while, A and B kept complaining about how his pudgy body felt so weird to shave, and how it was too different from how a Skull grunt’s body was supposed to look.

Last of all, grunt A (or B? Not like it mattered) shaved between his crack, right up to his pucker. F was obliged to bend over a counter and spread his legs wide for this last ministration. The feeling of vulnerability as he stared himself in the mirror made him blush, and his cock started to harden up. The grunt who wasn’t shaving him gave an approving nod. “That’s it! You feelin’ good now yer startin’ to look like a grunt? Huh, freshmeat?” F nodded and felt his dick twitch.

“Fuck!” Grunt A said as he finished up between F’s ass. “You still look tight, even after lettin’ boss play with yer pussy.”

_P-p-pussy?!_ Fresh embarrassment heated his face up, and then he gasped as he felt a finger teasing his hole. Grunt B leaned in closer to him. “Tell me freshmeat, ya had yer cherry popped yet?”

Fear made F tremble, but his dick bounced with arousal and started to leak. Grunt A stood up and pulled him toward the showers. “Guess we better take care of that now.”

“H-huh?! Right now?!” F baulked as he followed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle wit ya,” Grunt A assured impatiently, already pushing his middle finger into F’s rectum. F groaned helplessly, steered by his twitching pucker under the steaming water – into which the other two grunts walked while still fully clothed. “You’ll thank us for this later.”

Behind him, Grunt B pressed in close, finger his chubby nipples. “Trust me, bro,” he said seriously, “you do _not_ want your first time to be when the boss is just lookin’ to dump a load. You don’t wanna cry like a bitch in front of Guzma, do ya?”

And they were right. Two days later, after shaking down a trainer for 2 new Pokémon, F had gone to the weight room to do his daily routine. He was interrupted in the middle of jump rope when Guzma strode into the room, glanced around at all the grunts staying in shape, and finally spotted his newest recruit.

“You!” he said and curled his finger with a devilish gleam. Nervous, F set the jump rope down and approached. It was only at the last moment that he noticed the cute, blonde Ezri hanging close to Guzma’s side. “Ya said a fresh one, right baby? Haven’t finished with this one yet.”

Ezri’s assessing look almost made F shiver. The boy gave him a quick up-down with those sapphire eyes, then smiled and said, “Yup! He’ll do.” _Do for what?_

F didn’t ask, just saw Guzma beckon with his finger again and followed obediently. Soon enough, he was taken to the private bathroom set aside for the boss and his boyfriend, and he understood. It was ‘shower time.’ While Ezri and Guzma got undressed, F walked into the shower with his clothes on and got the water set to the right temperature.

Moments later, the boss and his boyfriend stepped in without even looking at him – Ezri simply giggling while he looked into his hot, taller boyfriend’s eyes. Their lips met, they held one another’s shoulders, and F had to watch while the passionate kiss played out in front of him. Even he had to admit… Ezri was pretty cute. He fit so easily into Guzma’s arms… The thought warmed him up a little to the task expected of him.

Guzma held out a hand, and F handed him the shampoo bottle, noticing as he did how thick and intimidating the boss’s curved, veiny 10” dick looked compared to Ezri’s pale 9-incher. After that, he took up a sponge and bodywash and started to scrub Ezri’s back and shoulders while the blonde worshipfully washed his tall and lean boyfriend.

“Yeah, baby,” Guzma hummed, lifting his arms over his head. “Your hands feel so good… You’re an angel, Ezri baby.” His ferociously rigid cock throbbed against Ezri’s stomach like he’d been saving his wad for weeks as he said it.

Ezri giggled cutely and kissed Guzma’s chest. “Love you so much, Guzma!” Then they kissed again while water poured over them. Ezri took another squeeze of bodywash and used it to lather up his and his boyfriend’s dick while they frotted together. Guzma’s hands, meanwhile, crept down to Ezri’s ass, gripped his cheeks, and spread them wide.

F had been informed what this signal meant. Obediently, he got down on his knees, planted his face in the blonde’s ass, and started licking his smooth, pale hole. Instantly, he heard Ezri gasp and stiffen. “Ooooh, Guzma!” he groaned with pleasure, as though his boyfriend were the one licking his hole. He wiggled his hips, clenching and unclenching his pucker while F lapped at it. “Ahhh… so good… more… Please, more!”

Without warning, F felt Guzma’s strong, demanding fingers grip his skull and tug it right into Ezri’s asshole. Ezri’s moans all but drowned out those of F, whose cock throbbed plaintively – ignored – in his sodden b-ball shorts. Eyes rolled back in helpless lust, he thrust his tongue deeper into that sweet hole. “How’s that, baby?” Guzma asked.

“S-s-so amazing!” Ezri cooed, shivering. “Ahh… Honey… I need it… I need your dick in me, please!”

Guzma grinned in satisfaction. “You got it, sweetheart.” F crawled back a step as his head was released, and then the boss turned his boyfriend around to get at his ass. Ezri looked almost starstruck with happiness as that rock-hard dick worked at his entrance. He had to brace his hands on the sides of the shower wall to keep himself steady as that beloved gut-puncher eased gradually inside.

As instructed, F waited patient and horny while the two men embraced in front of him. When Guzma finally entered balls deep, F could swear he saw a faint bulge at the base of the twinks smooth abdomen. Then as soon as Guzma started to work up a rhythm, F crawled forward and wrapped his mouth around Ezri’s dick.

“Guzma!” Ezri gasped joyfully, and his cock gave a powerful lurch in F’s throat, and the new grunt moaned at the incredibly sweet that oozed all over his tongue. _Guzma is so lucky to have a cute guy like this for his boyfriend,_ F thought, feeling suddenly inadequate. At the same time, listening to Ezri moan his boyfriend’s name and feeling the way member surged and spat, the blonde must have it pretty good too… He wasn’t sure who he envied more right then.

Suddenly, a musical ring sounded shrilly in the bathroom, and all the motion stopped. F hadn’t been prepared for this…

“Damn it… What could…” Unceremoniously, Ezri’s pale hand shoved on F’s forehead, and the grunt stumbled back onto his ass. A grunt he hadn’t noticed before was waiting with a towel as Ezri dashed out of the shower and picked up his phone. “Yeah? Uh-huh. Of course-… wait, what? Since when?! When did you know about this? And you’re telling me NOW!? What the fuck?!” It was almost a shock to hear such violent profanity from that sweet voice and angelic face. But that was nothing compared to the storm that was brewing on Guzma’s brow as he listened, letting the attendant dry his body with second towel.

“Alright, _fine!”_ Ezri said exasperated into the phone. “I’ll be right there. Just keep them busy for me. I’ll be literally two minutes.” At these words, _another_ grunt stepped into the room with Ezri’s clothes and started helping him into his clothes. As though he didn’t notice the service, Ezri turned back to Guzma, lifting his legs effortlessly as his underwear and shorts were pulled on. “I’m so sorry, Guzma sweetie. Those idiots changed plans on me again. Things were just getting _gooooood!”_

His whimpering pout seemed to restore a little of Guzma’s good humor. Meanwhile, the first grunt had finished drying Guzma off and now helped F to his feet, drying his clothes with a combination of towel and blow-dryer in the background.

“I understand, baby,” the boss said easily, smiling and stroking his boyfriend’s cheek. Ezri visibly melted at the touch and pressed in for another kiss.

“As soon as I get back tonight, we can pick up where we left off,” Ezri assured.

Guzma chuckled, sounding as if he wasn’t troubled at all. He even gave the boy a pat on the rump to usher him to the door. “Don’t let ol’ Guzma slow ya down. Get out there an’ knock ‘em dead, angel.”  
  
With a grin, Ezri shouldered his offered backpack and rushed from the room. Guzma’s benevolent smile remained fixed for about 4 seconds after Ezri left. Then the smile dropped from his face, and he cast his searing gaze to the left. “You.”  
  
F felt his skin break out in a fresh sweat. He looked side to side… but the grunt serving as towel-attendant had discreetly stepped behind him while he wasn’t looking. “Yes, _you,_ stupid!” F looked up at that frightening glare. Guzma snapped his fingers and pointed to the bed. “You’re not in trouble. Bedroom. Now,” he said exactly as if addressing someone who was in trouble.

“And you too!” Guzma called to the towel attendant as F slunk past his naked body, observing as he passed that Guzma’s angry dick was still pulsating with arousal. “Get in here.” And turning back into the room, he roughly shoved F from behind and threw him across the bed.

F got onto his elbows and would have rolled over, but then he felt Guzma’s hand between his shoulders, felt the boss’s weight bear down on him, and was pinned to the bed. Fear gripped him. His throat made a few inarticulate noises, trying to reason with a tongue that no longer obeyed. Then without warning, his ass was split open by Guzma’s curved, 10” fuck-stick.

F screamed with pain. His ass had gotten a good stretching two nights ago when his brothers took turns on him in the communal shower, but even that wasn’t enough preparation for _this._ Guzma was so hard, it felt like getting fucked by a marble statue. “ _Fuck,_ I hate it when that happens,” Guzma growled, seemingly to himself. “Why can’t those assholes keep a goddamn… Oi! Shaddup, will ya?” He gripped the top of F’s had and gave it a slight shake in his palm. “I can’t hear myself thinkin’ with ya screaming like that!”

F tried his best to stifle his cries, but Guzma hadn’t paused for even a moment before hammering away at him, and he didn’t stop now either. “Fuck it… You!” He nodded to the grunt he’d ushered in before. “Shut this bitch up!”

“You got it, boss!” the grunt said casually. With no remorse or sympathy, he walked around the bed, whipped out his 6” cock, and shoved it down F’s throat. F continued screaming – or trying to – but now it was just a minor annoyance muffled around a mouthful of dick.

“That’s better,” Guzma growled. He adjusted his grip to yank on F’s hair, holding his throat straight while he was getting raped. “Don’t be lazy! This is good practice for you, freshmeat! I told ya you’d be happier if ya didn’t make things difficult for me, yeah? Just quit whining and clench yer pussy so I can pump ya.”

F couldn’t get himself to stop howling, but he lost the energy for it pretty quickly. When he looked up at the grunt he was blowing, there might have been a _trace_ of compassion, but mostly it was just… efficiently. A Team Skull boy doin’ what Guzma told him without question. And to think… if only he’d finished his initiation – once he acquired the same mass-produced, identical, skater-boy build as the rest of the grunts – he’d never be especially noticed. Their places could be reversed and nobody would know the difference.

_I need to be like them,_ F thought to himself. _I need to be like them. I need to act like them. I need to look just like them. I need to fit in with them._

Thankfully, pent up as he was, it wasn’t too long before Guzma’s raging hardon started to throb inside that abused grunt-cunt and flood the boy’s guts with seed. “Fuck yeah!” he shouted, grinding F’s trapped and leaking cock into the mattress. “ _Fuckin’ breed that bitch!”_

As though taking it as an order, the grunt in F’s throat suddenly grabbed his head, held him in place, and thrust in balls-deep. F’s eyes rolled back and, as he swallowed up pints of cum from either end, he felt his own load oozing lazily out and onto the sheets. He had obeyed and given boss what he wanted. That, at least, felt _amazing._

With a sigh, Guzma pulled himself out and shook his softening dick. “Haaah… I needed that…” He looked to the towel attendant one last time. “Get some’a yer bros together and lick his pussy clean. After tonight, I want this bitch to stay in practice until he gets his medallion. That can be your job.”

The grunt made a grim, satisfied chuckle. “My pleasure, boss!”  
  
F shivered again. A trickle of Team Skull jizz leaked out of his ass and run across the back of his ballsack. _I need to be like them. I need to act like them. I need to look just like them. I need to fit in with them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got darker XD Had limited time to work on it again, but I hope you guys have enjoyed! 
> 
> Oh, what depraved, kinky fun will Inu have me and my trapped horny come up with next.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see what F's daily routine is like, and more in detail about what his job description is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN a hurry so gotta make this quick. 
> 
> Hope you like it, it's very filfthy and mind-breaky.

Ever obedient to the boss’s orders, word got around that F was required to ‘Stay in practice,’ and he wound up spending every night in the grunt dormitory (which nobody but F called them, and then only in his head) serving as a cum-dump for his brothers. The first time one of the grunts pulled him out of bed and told him, “No sleeping for you yet, bro. We’re gonna make sure you don’t squeal like a bitch in front o’ da boss no more,” the poor initiate had to hold back frightened tears. _This is it,_ he thought. _This is the gangrape they mentioned on my first day. They’re going to fuck me until I break._

But his fears were never realized. The other grunts weren’t venting their frustrations on him like Guzma had been, they were just obeying orders, treating him like one of their own. Only the first dick hurt, and even F had to concede that it was only because he was already so sore and tense. After that, it got easier.

The grunts rutted him with easy, rolling slaps of the hips, and with pets to his head and chest. They encouraged him, “That’s it, freshmeat… Work your hips more… Yeah… Keep yer back arched… _Fuuuuck…”_ “Yeah, that’s one tight throat-pussy… Now yer gettin’ it, newbie… You like that? You got this beautiful look in yer eyes, freshmeat. Feels good bein’ one of the bros, don’t it?” “C’mon, bro, don’t get lazy. You got two free hands, dontcha? Stroke your bros… That’s it…”

And once they were finished with him, they would always give him a milkshake and many affectionate pats on the head and shoulders. After all the humiliations and ridicule, these sessions of giving comfort to his new brothers made him feel like he belonged there, and helped him to serve Team Skull with enthusiasm.

All that was only at the end of his day, however. He spent some time each day in weight room or laundry-room (since he got stuck with laundry as his usual duty), but any grunts who weren’t immediately needed around lunch and breakfast usually got kicked out for the day.

So about half the time, F spent his days with this or that group of grunts wandering around town. A good ol’ Pokemon battle always livened up the day, and there was always much congratulations and chest-bumping when they stole a new batch. But there were only so many trainers passing through on a given day, so they spent as much or more time raiding convenience stores and loitering. They especially liked to hang out around a playground where children never seemed inclined to play. Once, the group he was with decided to vandalize the playground for fun. Five days later, F went out with a group to fix it back up, even though nobody had ordered them to do so. As far as F could reason out, both actions were motivated by boredom.

Of course, there was every chance that F would get stopped on his way out the door by either Guzma or Ezri and asked to perform… some errand or other for them. But any notions that Ezri had ‘taken a liking’ to F were short-lived. There was no real indication that Ezri “ _liked_ ” much of anyone besides Guzma, and F knew he just got picked out because he was conspicuous.   
  
Once, F got called into Guzma and Ezri’s bedroom to serve as “decoration” while they watched a movie together. But when it was seen that he didn’t have his medallion yet, he had to stand off to one side where he wouldn’t “ruin the symmetry.” He didn’t have a great view of the movie, but he had an _excellent_ view of Ezri curled up all cute and sweet in the boss’s arms. And then, when the movie started to get boring, he had a front row seat to watch Guzma massaging Ezri’s shoulders while one of the _proper_ grunts sucked the twink’s dick.

Another time, he happened to be delivering Guzma and Ezri’s laundry while the ace trainer was playing video games. Two of the identical grunts were standing around as ‘decoration’ in their usual macho poses, and a third was busy feeding Ezri’s Eevee. The smiling blonde didn’t even look up when he entered.

All of a sudden, without looking away from the screen or addressing anyone in particular, Ezri said in a clear, placid voice, “Suck my balls.” While F was busy stressing over whether or not the command had been meant for him, all three of the other grunts started toward Ezri at once – but the two stopped when they saw that the pet-feeder grunt was going to get there first. Ezri still didn’t look away from the screen – just shifted his hips in an almost unconscious way to give his ball-polisher more access.

From the corners, the two decorative grunts gave him warning looks, and F felt his face hot with shame. _He’s the boss’s boyfriend,_ F reminded himself. _His wishes are orders too. I need to jump to obey him, just like everyone else._ The chance came just as he’d finished hanging up the laundry. As he was walking with his basket toward the door, Ezri calmly observed, “Hmm… I think I’d like to have my dick sucked as well.”

Whether because he was really fastest, or his brothers had held back to let him make up for his lapse, F got there first, leaning over the couch’s armrest, lifting his bandana just over his lips, and swallowing 9” fruity, aromatic twink-dick. Now he was especially glad that his brothers had trained him for sex, because the blonde’s cock was absolutely _delicious,_ and he would have been very sad not to cram every single centimeter down his throat.

Ezri didn’t offer any thanks (he never did), but he gave a loud sigh of contentment and rested and elbow on F’s back. From him, that was like an enthusiastic shake of the hand, and pride made F’s throat constrict even tighter in a way that was sure to feel exquisite for the adorable, pampered trainer. Just below him, the ball-sucking grunt gave F a sly wink of congratulation.

But what really drove home the role of Team Skull’s grunts was the first time Ezri brought a group of his friends to the base to hang out.

It’s true that Guzma saw his grunts as units; that he crafted them to be identical and interchangeable; that they were all disposable and replaceable. But for all that, they could see in his eyes and hear in his speech that to Guzma, they were also – at least on some level – his ‘personnel.’ To argue with him was strictly forbidden and would result in a _vicious_ spanking, if not a pump-and-dump to go with it. To ‘update’ the boss when his info was out of date, however, was tolerable.   
  
Guzma: “Take your pick, baby! We’ve got 124 Pokemon in storage we don’t know what to do with.”   
Grunt P: “119 now, boss. We sold the 5 Geodudes like you said this morning.”   
Guzma: “Oh yeah, 119. Plenty to choose from!”

Ezri’s attitude toward the grunts was a lot more indifferent. He was never actively _rude_ to the grunts, but he didn’t show them any special consideration either. He never held eye-contact with them for more than a second or two, and the tasks he demanded from them were often completely trivial. “Brush my teeth for me,” was one command the twink had given while “too busy” texting his friends to do it himself. Still, he seemed to unconscious move in ways that made their jobs easier – like setting his glass off to one side at dinner when he wanted it refilled without ever looking at his waiter.

But when his friends came to call…

Ezri brought four friends with him so their Pokemon could spar at their private field. Nine grunts (they needed to be full-fledged members to keep up appearances) were assigned to “wait on them.” But after 20 minutes, F got a summons.

“Freshmeat,” a grunt (Grunt U, maybe?) addressed him. “Ezri and his boys are short-staffed. Get out to the field.”

When he arrived, F saw they needed 10 grunts for 5 people. The two trainers who were currently battling had one grunt each to hold their Pokeballs for them. The grunts even had their pants pulled down, and trainers’ backpacks were hung upon their obediently erect cocks like phallic coat-hooks.

A third trainer was sitting on a grunt while two others polished his dick with their tongue, all the while making sure that their bandanas kept their faces from his view. The last trainer was crouched next to Ezri. While the cute blonde twink was showing off his nearly-full Pokedex to his friend, both boys were leaning over the pair of grunts they were screwing while another two made out with their pale assholes.

That made nine grunts. Now F, the tenth, was here so they’d still have somebody to serve drinks.

As soon as he saw their faces, F knew there was going to be trouble. Ezri’s friends all had cruel grins on their faces. They clearly _loved_ the mindless obedience with which the grunts followed orders, and took every opportunity to lord it over them.   
  


When F brought a glass of orange soda to the red-haired trainer using Grunt S (“s” for “seat”), the trainer gave him a lascivious grin and pulled down the front of his shorts. F felt his cheeks turn red as his smooth, 7” cock sprang out – hard as he couldn’t help but being when he saw his brothers having sex.

“Like watcha see, faggot?” the trainer said, spreading his legs wider and leaning back a little. “Betcha wish you were one of these fags on their knees, dontcha?”

F gulped, knowing there was only one correct answer. “Yes, sir.” His twitching dick provided proof.

“Heheh, yeah ya do,” the trainer crowed, flexing his abs and pressing one of the grunt’s faces harder against his shaft. “You boys are trash. Just cheap, useless things.” After a moment, he threw a glare at F. “Nod your head, faggot.”

F’s dick gave a furious twitch and pre leaked from it onto the grass. He nodded.

Ezri’s red-haired friend grinned, gave F’s throbbing dick a painfully hard squeeze, and flung it against F’s belly where it gave a satisfying smack. Then he addressed the three serving his as well. “You boys are all trash, aren’t you.”   
  
In unison, all four replied, “Yes, sir. We are all trash.”

This caught all the other boy’s attention, and they stopped to look at him. Glowing at the attention, red-head continued loud enough to be heard across the field, “All of you are _things._ Just cheap, useless things.”

Ten voices answered him at once in subservient drones, “Yes, sir. We’re cheap, useless things.”

F could tell by the casually wicked gleam in their eyes that this game was far from new. One of the sparring trainers looked at his own servant, pulled his skull cap down to cover his eyes, and flicked the tip of the grunt’s dick with a fingertip. The grunt seemed to shiver slightly from pain, but didn’t falter, cry out, or allow his dick to soften at all and let the backpack slide off his dick.

This made his sparring partner howl with laughter, and he gave the grunt waiting on him a lazy slap to the face. “You all aren’t even people, are you?”

Every grunt – _especially_ the one who’d been slapped – answered promptly, “Yes, sirs, we’re not people.”

Eyes gleaming with cruelty, red-head took the orange soda that F had brought him and poured half of it on the heads of the two grunts who were blowing him – to the delight of the other trainers. Already on their knees, the grunts accepting this abuse without flinching. Their eyes were glassy, and their tongues stroked his dick with worshipful attention. “Hah! You all love bein’ treated like trash, dontcha?”

“Yes, sirs. We love being treated like trash.”

The rest of the chilly soft drink was poured out over F’s dick, together with the ice that’d been in it except for a few cubes that red-head saved. “You’re things, not people!”

“Yes sirs, we’re things, not people.”

At a gesture, F turned around. Red-head jerked him closer by the back of his shorts, pulled down his colorful boxer briefs, and shoved one of the wet ice cubes into F’s unsuspecting asshole. The grunt gasped and rose onto tiptoe, but he knew better than to pull away as the rude trainer’s finger wormed its way up into his hole and pushed the frozen substance deeper into him. From this angle, he could see that even Ezri was cackling with amusement.

“You fags love getting’ abused like this,” F’s tormentor crowed.

“Yes sirs, we love getting abused,” they all answered, though F’s voice was shrill and distinct among all the others.   
  
Still, he overhead one of the other trainers saying, “ _Fuck, Brad always knows how to have fun with these bitches.”_  
  


More and more excited by the second, ‘Brad’ hooked an arm around F’s waist to drag him closer, then shoved another ice cube in to follow the first. The poor grunt-in-training screamed, and the tray he’d been carrying fell from his hands. He bowed slightly, and Brad shoved the ice cube right up against his prostate.   
  
Brad laughed at his triumph and shook his finger around, vigorously abusing that Team-Skull pussy. “Repeat after me! You’re cheap toys.”   
  
“ _We’re cheap toys!”_ F didn’t dare fail to reply, no matter how high and pathetic his voice rose.

“You love bein’ abused.”

_“We love being abused!”_ Sure enough, F’s dick was twitching faster and faster, leaking fresh pre at every upswing.

“You’re disposable trash.”   
  
_“We’re disposable trash!”_

“You’re not people.”   
  
“ _We’re not people!”_

“You love bein’ abused.”   
  


_“We love being-”_  
  
The rest of the grunts were drowned out as F _shrieked,_ “WE LOVE BEING ABUSED!” and fired his load out across the lawn. The field rang with cheers and hoots of laughter.   
  
“Holy shit, the bitch just shot 7 fuckin’ feet!”   
  
“You’re the man, Brad!”   
  


The whole time, Brad’s finger just kept ruthlessly fingering F’s cunt like a dog shaking a ragdoll. F’s spine was arched, his eyes rolled heavenward, his mouth gaping open and loosing incessant, womanish screams. But he knew his job was to let himself be abused, and so he focused every fiber of his being into staying on his feet. 50 seconds in, he was still on his feet, still screeching with bliss and agony with knees slightly bent, and his cock continued to pulsate long after his balls were trained dry. Brad’s was even bracing his free hand against the slave’s back so he could continue his torment.

Finally, as F felt himself teetering on the brink of insanity, Ezri pulled himself together enough to call out through tears of laughter, “Brad, I swear!” A gasp for breath. “If you break it, I’m gonna make you pay for another one!”

“HAH!” With that last burst of a laugh, Brad finally withdrew his finger and gave F’s back a shove. The grunt feel near-catatonic to the grass, shivering and panting.

“Whoa, he still alive?” someone asked, not sounding especially worried.

A pair of fingers were snapped in front of F’s face, and he blinked instinctively. “Yeah, he’s fine.”   
  
“Just leave him there,” Ezri said. “Pizza’s almost here. I’ll send someone to collect him later.”

As the Ezri departed with his guests, one of the grunts stopped to give him a pat on the shoulder and whisper in his ear, “Nice one, rookie.”

The smile on his lips remained frozen there until a grunt came out about 6 minutes later and peeled him off the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horny comments let me know you care!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Grunts are pretty low on the Team Skull totem pole. 
> 
> Like... _really_ low. 
> 
> Like... below even the Pokemon they use to battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I would have this finished in 3 hours, but that just goes to show what a liar I am when it comes to the products of my horny-addled brain. 
> 
> As per usual, one-draft, minimal (if any) proofing, hot hot filth.

The memories of grunts aren’t especially long – especially not where the deeds of individual members are concerned. But at least for the night, F got to experience a small amount of notoriety from his fellows. He first heard the account (while drinking a healthy, reviving milkshake, naturally) from one of the nine grunts who’d been sucking dick. “53 seconds! I counted! And he was smart – he put all his weight behind him so the only way he could fall was backward where Blake was bracin’ him up. He screamed at first, and then I couldn’t tell if he was breathin’. He got this face like he’d went braindead and gone to horny-heaven. But he survived, didntcha rookie?”

His bro gave his shoulder a shake, and Blake grinned under his bandana. “Rookie” was one he hadn’t heard so far, and it had a friendly ring to it. The other grunts, on hearing the story, gave him similar pats on the back. That night, instead of his usual gang-bang before bed, his brothers tilted his legs back, gave his well-used hole a long and soothing French-kiss, and bid him goodnight with, “Keep it up, Rookie.”

But by morning, it was back to business as usual. Neither the story – nor F’s new nickname – were remembered by any but F himself.

The first time F was taken out on a Pokémon hunting patrol, F had held out some hope of getting his own Pokémon back. The grunts he was shadowing led him down to “the rack,” as they called it. It was a shelf occupying a full wall, lined with row after slanted row of Pokéballs. They were arranged like rows of milk or deodorant at a grocery store, so that as one took a ball from the front of the shelf, all the others would roll forward for easy access. Unfortunately, this made the balls impossible to tell apart. The fact that the shelves were only labeled alphabetically (alphabetically by trainer, or by Pokémon?) didn’t help much.

“Uh…” F worried aloud, eyes skimming the rows of balls. “So… where are _my_ Pokémon?”

His mentor shrugged. “What’s your name again?”  
  
“Fran-” He drew up short at the grunt’s raised eyebrow. “Uh… F…” His senior lazily jerked a thumb at the pair of rows marked _F._ “Right…” He crouched down to see how many balls the row went back. F had only donated 4 Pokémon to Team Skull’s hoard, and yet there nearly 30 balls under his heading.

“Have, uh… Have the Pokémon I donated yesterday been put here yet?” he asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant about it.

“How should I know? I didn’t handle yer dumbass Pokémon, dumbass!” He actually sounded offended that F had asked.

“Yeah… sorry…” Cowed, F took the first ball off the shelf and rolled it over in his hand. There was nothing to distinguish it from any others. While he was looking at it, the grunt he was shadowing gave a very pointed sigh of impatience.

On the vague hunch that his own Pokémon must either be at the very front or the very back of the row, he took the first two balls at the front and the two as close to the back as he could reach – one of which was even a Great Ball, and might therefor contain his Snorlax.

Far from certain, F called out the first Pokémon he’d picked up (trying to ignore an exasperated “oh my god” from his mentor). It was a low-level Zubat. So he recalled it and sent out the second one – a Kakuna. The third Pokémon was actually a half-decent Sandshrew that looked battle-ready, but was nonetheless a stranger to him. Heart pounding with hope, F summoned the Pokémon inside of the Great Ball, followed the red flash, and beheld… Zubat. ( _Who the hell uses a Great Ball on Zubat?!)_

“Yep, those are four Pokémon alright,” said the senior grunt with acid sarcasm, arms folded against his chest. “Now can we _please_ get a move on?”

F knew he was trying his team-mate’s patience, but he felt on the verge of panic. “But… None of these Pokémon are mine!”

The grunt flushed with fury. He straightened off the wall where he’d been leaning, stamped a foot, and shouted, “ _The fuck does it matter?!”_ so loud that a pair of voices from upstairs suddenly fell silent.

F held the gangster’s glare for an entire second, saw the swollen vein pulsing on his forehead, and looked smartly aside. “S-s-sorry…” This was not a good day for making friends, all in all.

A few weeks later, around the time F had lost his baby fat but still not developed a grunt’s light six-pack, he received a lesson on the subject a second time – except through the medium of observation.

It was about 3 o’clock, and F was one of 4 grunts waiting on Ezri while he trained in the field out back. Not 5 minutes in, Guzma came out flipping a pretty Great Ball in his hand and presented it to his boyfriend as a present, saying it was ‘a special treasure just recently uncovered.’ Instantly, Ezri threw his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders and was thanking him with many kisses, caresses, and words of praise.

“You really are the best, Guzma! I’ll train it well, and I’ll always think of you when I use it.” Then, leaving his boyfriend grinning and blushing with pride, Ezri turned to the open pitch. “Let’s go, baby!”  
  


For a terrible instant, the idea flashed through F’s mind that he would see his own Snorlax emerge from the spinning Great Ball. It was a powerful impression, and he felt a lump in his throat as though a cry of dismay were already building on his lips. Instead, the form of a Shiny Clefable took shape on the green. F felt the cry in his throat fall back, unuttered.

But as though determined to escape, he heard the cry taken up by the grunt standing a few feet to his right. “Hey! That’s _my_ Clefable! My Pounderpuff! I-” He stopped himself quickly, but the damage was already done.

New as F still was, he shared a glance of horror with his other two companions. The Clefable in question looked nearly as startled as they were. Its happy “ _Clefaa-_ ” was stopped prematurely. It looked at the grunt who had just tried to claim it, voiced a confused, “ _Clefay?”_ and tilted its head as if to say, ‘ _Do I know you?’_ Of course, identical as the grunts were, there’s no way it would know its master by sight.

As for Ezri, he looked the least surprised of them all. Not _unsurprised_ exactly, but no more startled than if somebody had dropped their fork on the floor. He gave the outspoken grunt a quick, searching glance – probably the longest F had yet seen him hold eye contact with one of the Skull Grunts. Then he looked over his shoulder at Guzma and said coolly, “Honey, this one isn’t working right.”

A chill ran down F’s spine. It was exactly the tone one might use to say, ‘ _Hey, the refrigerator has been making a weird sound lately._ ’

Guzma, meanwhile, glared reproachfully at the grunt who had _dared_ to talk back to his sweet angel. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” The pretty twink turned back to his training without a second thought, and the boss walked over to his misbehaving subordinate. His hand came to rest on the grunt’s shoulder… and he gave the boy a grin that was even more menacing than his glare. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get you… _adjusted._ ”  
  
Guzma didn’t… ‘ _dispose of’_ the grunt, which F had really thought he might. He knew, because Guzma showed up to dinner late, escorting a grunt with a severe limp and a broad cum-stain on the back of his sagging b-ball shorts. But in the meantime, he’d had plenty of time to stew on the grunt’s fate.  
  
Team Skull’s grunts were all perfectly identical – in shape, if not in voice and cock-size. Sure, they were useful. Sure, they were pretty to look at. Sure, they were hand-crafted, designer grunts made to suit the boss’s tastes and intimidate the tourists who made for easy pickings. But at the end of the day, they were all still disposable. There were always empty chairs at the table and no fixed seating arrangements. Even their bunks seemed to get swapped around one night to the other. If one of them disappeared, how long would it take the rest of them to notice? … if ever?

F was really starting to feel like he fit in. His speech pattern sometimes gave him away, but he had acquired the same sort of tan his brothers had, and his chest was really coming along. In fact, unless you took his shirt off, you might not be able to tell him from any other grunt on Team Skull. Thus it was that he was trusted to handle laundry all on his own that day… or perhaps his mentor had just ditched him. Well, whatever.

He noticed movement on his right as he was folding three dozen sets of the exact same black b-ball shorts and looked up to see the blonde Ace Trainer standing next to him and looking enquiringly at the rumbling drier that sat between them. At his side, a tall Cinderace with exceptionally glossy fur was casting a proprietary glance over F’s crouching form. Ezri’s Cinderace was one of his favorites and frequently followed him around the base outside his Pokéball.

“Any warm ones?” Ezri asked, as though speculating to himself or his showy rabbit.

F comprehended immediately. He opened the drier door, stuck a hand in once the rotation had ceased, and – finding the towels all hot and dry – pulled out a big, white bath towel. He handed it wordlessly to Ezri, who promptly started rubbing his face against the fresh fabric in the most adorable manner possible.

“Ahhh, that’s nice!” he said with a sunny smile that F felt rather lucky to see. “Okay, Cinder, let’s… Hm?” Just as the boss’s boyfriend was turning to leave, his Cinderace tugged at the waist of his jacket, then pointed to F with its other paw.

F felt his guts go cold at once. ‘ _Oh no, what did I do?’_ he thought to himself.

Ezri spared a brief look at the grunt indicated, then turned back to his beloved bunny with an ironic smirk. “Seriously, Cinder? You’ve already had two today.”

In reply to this gentle chiding, the Cinderace fixed Ezri with a look so perfectly sweet and imploring, it could only have learned it from watching its trainer. The blonde melted instantly under that beseeching gaze, and he hugged his Pokémon with heart-touching warmth. “Oh, sure! I know it’s that time of year for you.”

With a joyful hop, Cinderace leapt up and gave its trainer a kiss on the cheek before turning its attention back to the grunt before them. F hadn’t followed nearly any of this accept the fact that his service was needed, and he leapt to his feet to be prepared.

However, Cinderace seemed perfectly taken aback. It threw a glance up at Ezri that clearly said, ‘ _I don’t understand… Do something!’_

Ezri met F’s gaze, and held it. For 2 seconds. Three… _Five!_ Slowly, the boy’s eyes produced a frown. Only a very small one, but on that constantly-smiling countenance, it was worth ten of Guzma’s most menacing glares. F felt his guts turning to ice.

Then the twink’s eyes glanced at the lack of medallion on F’s chest, and his glare was replaced by realization. “Oh! You’re that unfinished one, huh?”

“Yes!” F confirmed and breathed again for the first time since Ezri had met his eyes.

The pretty blond offered his cutest grin. “Okay, I see now. Nobody’s told you yet. See…” He rested a hand proudly on his Pokémon’s head. “My Cinderace here is a breeding Pokémon. And Guzma says he’s allowed to breed as he pleases within the base, as long as I give him permission first.”

There was a beat. F’s brain was having trouble tracking the thread of logic. Then the grunt laid a towel out on the laundry-room floor, pulled his baggy shorts and boxer briefs down his knees, and dropped onto all fours. Only after bodily complying with his master’s implied command did F’s mind finally catch up to the understanding, and his belly clenched.

Before his eyes, the bunny’s dick rapidly sprang from its sheath and shot a jet of pre in his face. F blinked as the fluid struck his cheek. When he opened his eyes, the Pokémon had already sprung behind him at a single bound. A pair of soft paws gripped his hips with possessive strength, and his guts were stuffed with 8” of scalding Poké-cock.

“ _Aw, fuck!”_ F was helpless to stop the exclamation as the dick stabbed into his belly. His own dick shot to full hardness quick enough to slap his belly on its way up. A second later, an even more girlish squeal escaped as Cinderace started slamming into him like a pneumatic drill.

Ezri giggled with delight, smiling as his precious star Pokémon rutted with a common grunt in the middle of the laundry-room. “Ooh, Cinder! I think you just popped his Cheri Berry! Is this your first time getting mounted by a Pokémon, grunt-bitch?”

It was a moment before F could reply. None of the grunts had ever fucked him this hard before – _couldn’t_ fuck him this hard. Cinderace’s cock was as hard as Guzma’s and its hips were an absolute fucking-machine. His belly screamed in agony, even while his balls churned away. “Y-y-y-yesss…. I’ve never been… _uuugh…_ f-fucked by a p-Pokémon before…”

“Isn’t Cinderace just marvelous?!” Ezri enthused, hugging himself with excitement. “I’ve never seen a Pokémon breed with so much energy. So much power! You must feel what a virile stud he is.”

There was no doubting that. As though spurred on by its master’s ego-stroking, Cinderace climbed onto the helpless grunt’s back, held on tight with his knees, and viciously hate-fucked him. With this angle, every single thrust was rubbing against F’s prostate, and the orgasmic heat in his ass began to blot out the pain. With an unceremonious shudder, the degraded human’s eyes rolled back, and he shot a sudden, watery load onto the towel beneath him.

The sudden ejaculation wasn’t lost on Ezri, who practically twittered with giggles. “Oh my god, that was so fast! You’re getting even better Cinder! This bitch must be in love!”

Love or not, it was all over for F. After that first, sudden climax, and the constant slapping of Cinderace’s heavy balls against his grundle, there was no escaping the sheer ecstasy spreading out from the grunt’s loins. The Pokémon’s love organ turned his innards into a blur of friction. It seemed like his belly was melting, turning into raw, liquid pleasure. _This_ was what it meant to be bred. To have his stomach turned into a womb for fire-rabbit seed.

To F’s complete joy, Cinderace had a stamina well-suited to his species. It took a dozen minutes before the bunny was finished with him, by which time 8 separate climaxes had been milked out of the fucked-stupid grunt. Had he been coherent, F might have confessed his love for Poké-dick then and there while the breeding stud was still injecting its molten cream into his bowels.

The aftershocks were still rolling around his limbs like electricity as Cinderace freed himself from his bitch’s slack cunt, wiped itself clean on a dry part of the towel, and hopped back to its master. Ezri allowed his precious Poké-star to jump into his open arms and hugged him as though the bunny were his own child.

“Cinder, you’ve outdone yourself! You could populate your own island if we let you!” Cinder squeaked joyfully and nuzzled under its trainer’s chin.

Still holding his Cinderace against his hip, clean towel slung over one shoulder, Ezri spared another smile for the catatonic grunt with his vacant smile. “Wish I’d known how hungry you were for bunny-cock, or I’d have started you on a hormone treatment. Still, if you _do_ wind up laying an egg, let us know so we can add you to Cinder’s hutch.”

This hadn’t made much sense to F’s broken mind, but that didn’t stop him from grinning and giggling happily. Then Ezri and Cinderace went off to the baths and left F in a puddle of his own grunt-spunk. He was still grinning, though thankfully asleep, when somebody found him almost an hour later.

The next day, unable to stand for the pain in his hips, F wound up taking his very first sick day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horny comments let me know you care!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F has come a long way since recruitment, and now his journey is almost complete. 
> 
> Suddenly, an intruder is discovered in the base trying to steal back their stolen Pokemon. What a perfect opportunity for F to take his final test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably warn you all especially now, this chapter's got some kinda serious non-con elements in it, so... if you're sensitive/averse to such content, really consider not reading this one. 
> 
> But if non-con and mind-break is totes your jam, then please proceed!

F didn’t say or do much at all the day after getting bred by Ezri’s Cinderace. In fact, it was whispered among his dorm mates that if he didn’t start showing signs of consciousness soon, they would have to call Guzma in to look at him. If the newbie didn’t snap to his boss’s commands, he’d have to be “thrown away.” And on that grim note, they’ll left him on his own.

It was the silence that got to F, he later thought. The only time grunts were usually quiet was when the boss or the boss’s boyfriend excepted them to be. To be trapped in silence when so utterly alone bothered him, and he began to ask himself some important questions. “Why am I lying down in here? Aren’t I supposed to be doing something? That’s right… I should be doing laundry or… going on a raid for more Pokémon. Just as soon as my legs stop hurting so much…”

By the time dinner was brought up, F could hold a conversation with the grunt who brought him his meal. Then, very, very casually, the grunt happened to ask, “So… Expecting any eggs? Is your belly a Pokémon womb now?” The hot, shameful blush that spread over F’s face was evidence of his returning _‘sanity,’_ such as it was.

The grunt snorted and patted his shoulder. “I’m just kiddin’ ya, man! Most of us have gotten mounted by Cinderace at one point or another.” He pulled the collar of his shirt to the side to show F a white scar where a rabbit Pokémon’s teeth had bitten into his shoulder. “Ya gotta be _really_ useless before the boss will let ya get turned into a baby-tank. Best ya can do now is eat, sleep, and get better.”

And that was that. The next day, he was back to his usual duties.

Surprisingly, though, getting fucked by Cinderace seemed to do more of good than harm. For the first day, there was a little bump on his belly where the Pokémon had stretched it and dumped his load. But as soon as F got back into his daily workouts, it disappeared and stripped a little more fat along with it. By the next week, when he took of his shirt and looked at his subtle six-pack in the mirror, he looked just like any of the other grunts.

His brothers talked to him less as he blended in more. They didn’t call him ‘newb’ or ‘bitch’ nearly as often, except when he was being especially stupid. The real mark of progress, though, was when he started hearing himself called by the wrong name several times per day. This made him _very_ happy.

_‘It’s finally happening!’_ he thought to himself. _‘I’m just like them! I’m interchangeable! I’m part of the faceless ‘Team Skull mob,’ and a mass-produced product like the boss wants us to be._

The same week F had this realization, another proof of his conformity emerged. He was walking back from the local convenience store with a bottle of ramune, two bags of chips, and that week’s copy of Sinnoh Jump (which he’d never cared about in his old life, but was practically Haute Literature where Team Skull was concerned). He was just entering the Pokémon storage room when a passing grunt clapped him on the shoulder and made serious eye-contact with him.

“Hey bro… forget something?” The grunt’s voice was so thick with condescension, it was almost worse than getting yelled at.

F, who’d been having such a good day up till now, took a quick look at himself. He had his bag with all its snacks, his borrowed Pokémon were still clipped to his belt, and his pants were sagging just low enough to show any enticing flash of blue and red undies. “Like what?!” he asked hotly.

Unphased by F’s sudden flash of attitude, the grunt lifted up his own S medallion and crossed his eyes stupidly. “Uhhhhh, yer _bling_ , maybe?! Fuckin’ dumbass…”

F scoffed. “I ain’t _got_ the Skull S yet. How’m I s’posed to wear it?”

“Huh?!” The grunt reared up as though preparing to escalate the confrontation a step forward, but suddenly stopped… and started laughing. “Aw shit! Bro, I had no idea it was you! K, was it? You look just like a Skull Grunt, now!”

Their fight instantly forgotten, F laughed along with him. He was so happy, he didn’t even care about his name being lost in the mix. He was turning into a real Team Skull grunt. _It won’t be much longer now…_

Two more weeks went by, and with only the medallion lacking to complete his look, things were almost peaceful for F. And then, somebody tried to break into the base.

F knew that the Team Skull base _had_ an alarm system for intruders, but he’d never heard it in use until then. Still, the other grunts seemed to know where they were going, and in a few minutes he was in ‘the rec room’ with the rest of them. 

Guzma had been interrupted in the middle of a game of pool by the alarm, but he didn’t seem terribly upset about it. In fact, as the still-struggling Super Nerd was dragged in front of him, Guzma was grinning like a shark with a cheeseburger. (The simile made sense to F’s brain at this point.)

“Let go!” the wimpy nerd protested, struggling in vain against the grunts who held him each by an arm. “Take your hands off of me, you filthy animals! I want my Pokémon back! You hear me? Give them…”

He trailed off as Guzma walked over and fixed his sinister grin on the intruder. Tapping his pool cue against his back like a shogun in one of those classic poses. “Well, whadda we got here, boys? It looks like a pretty little bird just flew in through the window.”

F was among the first of the grunts to laugh at the boss’s taunt.

The nerd’s glasses flashed. He bared his teeth at Guzma. “I’m here for my Pokémon! Give them back!”

Guzma rolled his eyes. “Boooooriiiiiing.”

The trainer made a growling lunge at the boss, but grip of his restrainers was too strong. _“Give them back!”_

Guzma stuck a finger in his ear. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Geeze, you’re so stupid… How can you trainers not get through your heads that when somebody _steals_ your Pokémon from you, it’s for keeps? We’re not gonna give ‘em back just ‘cos you ask.”

The room shook with laughter as the grunts pointed and jeered at the nerd’s stupid face. He looked about ready to cry. He started to shout something, and F was one of the few close enough (just barely) to catch him shouting, “You bastard! I’ll have-”

The butt of Guzma’s cue swung up under the captured trainer’s chin in a blur and came to rest like the tip of a sword at his throat. The room fell quiet in an instant and – it must be said – the boss looked like a fuckin’ badass in that moment. Even more so than he always did.

“What’s that, _boy_?” he said, eyes gleaming with wickedness. “You wanted something, wasn’t it? Not sure I caught that?” He paused as though to allow the nerd to answer, but the poor wimp felt the wood of the cue digging into his throat and knew that if he tried to speak, his windpipe would be struck before he’d gotten three words out.

“Oh, I know!” Guzma said in pretended realization. He stepped back, shouldering his cue again. “Boys… I think we’ve got _another_ applicant to join Team Skull!” Laughter and cheers were raised in equal measure.

Veins were raised on the helpless wimp’s face. Spit flew from his lips as he screamed, _“Fuck you!_ I don’t wanna join you fucking thugs! I’m gonna get my Pokémon back and be…” At that moment, Guzma turned his back on his guest and gave the thumbs down. F didn’t know what this signal meant, but the rest of the gang did.   
  


A raucous cheer was raised. More hands reached out of the crowed to grab at the nerd’s clothes and drag him over to the pool table. He fought and thrashed, but all his struggling only helped his clothes to be shredded more easily once his back was pressed to the green felt of the table. Only when his white briefs were torn away did the nerd realize just how much trouble he was in.

F watched, stunned, as the grunts splayed the Super Nerds naked limbs out. Somebody snatched the glasses from his face and flung them into a corner of the room, never to be seen again. Then dicks were whipped out, the intruder was dragged by his hips to the edge of the table, and one of the grunts dropped to his knees to start tonguing his exposed starfish.

“ _Ew!_ Stop that! What are you doing! That… that feels so gross! Get off me!” Rather than pay any heed to what the wimp was saying, the grunts were whispering around to see if any of them had brought ‘ _the lube.’_ For a struggling virgin ass like this, spit wasn’t going to be enough.

“Hey boys!” Guzma called. “Catch!” He tossed a bottle into the crowd, and it made its way to the middle of the circle.

“That’s our chief! Always prepared!”

The tongue was replaced by a lube-covered finger, and the nerd’s breath caught in his throat. “Guh… n-no… feels weird… Get off! G-” At this point, somebody with a spare handkerchief decided to gag the struggling bitch.

For F, everything seemed to be happening in a dream. The nights when his brothers had crowded around to take turns with his ass ended weeks ago, and even then there had never been such a… _party_ atmosphere. The smell of cheap body spray from so many tightly-packed grunts was intoxicating, and their excitement was getting F hard as a rock. He wanted to see what happened next.

The first finger in Nerd’s ass was joined by a second. The stranger still struggled as much as he was able, but his cock was still rising to attention on under the grunt’s experienced touch, and… _Fuck!_

From a starting length of 3 pathetic inches, the nerd’s cock grew to an astonishing 9” of pale, veiny trainer-meat. _What business does some scrawny nerd like him have carrying a weapon like that around?_ F heard the same sentiment echoed by several of his fellows.

“Fuck, man, skinny bitches always have the biggest cocks! Look at that thing!”

“No wonder he was such a pathetic trainer. Probably spent all his time at home jerking his tent pole.”

“Somebody order a nerd with extra sausage?” This was close enough to a joke to get a round of laughter. Meanwhile, one of the grunts in the middle of the circle had taken Nerd’s cock in his fist and was giving it a few experimental tugs. The intruder’s back arched off the table and he tried to howl through his gag, but he also spilled an enormous cord of precum onto his stomach. From the opposite side, another grunt leaned in and wrapped is mouth around the tip of that trapped gut-puncher.   
  
After a minute of this, Guzma approached the table again and leaned in over the nerd’s head. The crowd had unconsciously pushed F even closer, and he caught every word from the boss’s mouth. “Now I see why ya came waltzin’ in here with that weak-ass Magnemite thinkin’ you could push us around. You must think yer some kinda big man, swingin’ a salami like that around between your legs. But listen close now…”

He leaned in closer and held the boy by the hair to make sure the whimpering geek was paying attention. “There’s only 5 types of men here at the Team Skull base, ya hear?” He started to tick them off on his fingers as he spoke. “There’s ya boy Guzma, Guzma’s boyfriend Ezri, all o’ Ezri’s friends (if they happen to be around), my Grunts, and our Victims.”

Guzma allowed a pause after these words. In the lull, F overheard one of the other grunts cry, “C’mon bro, let someone else have a taste of that pussy!” The member with his fingers in Nerd’s ass was pulled out of the way, and another grunt buried his face into that slick hole – which now tasted of strawberries from the flavored lube. The Super Nerd shuddered and whined.

Guzma’s lips curled even further. “You ain’t any o’ the first four, so that means you gotta be a Victim. And a Victim isn’t really a man. That thing my boys are bein’ so nice as ta lick for ya… that ain’t a dick. That’s just yer oversized bitch-clit. And now it’s ours. Just like yer cunt, yer Pokémon, _and you._ Got it?” Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and motioned to the grunts assembled. “Fuck ‘im, boys!”

Whoops and hollers shook the room a second time. Now feverish with lust, the grunt at the edge of the table stood up, eagerly stroked himself while someone else poured a fresh squeeze of strawberry-flavored lube over his brother’s dick, and then rammed his cock home.

Healthily lubed as he was, the entry must still have hurt. Instantly the nerd convulsed, and tears raced down his cheeks and soaked into his hair. At the same time, though, his cock throbbed as though he were enjoying it. F didn’t know how much he could see without his glasses, but all around him, about 3 dozen horny grunts were all stroking their dicks to the sight of the trespasser getting raped. 

“Yeah, bro, fuck him! Pound that bitch fer boss!”

“Fuck ‘im hard! Make him cry!”

The grunt who’d been sucking and stroking the nerd suddenly came up for air, still stroking the victim’s pulsing shaft. “Fuck, man, that was a _huge_ wad of pre! This bitch fucking loves it!”

The grunt who was fucking Nerd (grunt Q, F decided) grinned and lifted the guy’s ankles onto his shoulders to get better access. “Izzat right? You like that, bitch? You want more? Huh?” The gagged victim couldn’t reply, so Q just went on. “Yeah, that’s right… Take it! _Take it!”_ And F watched as Q slammed his cock inside and stole the cherry from that geeky ass-pussy.

Before Q had time to catch is breath, though, R practically jerked him out of the bitch’s ass and took his place. R was actually a little bit smaller, so his dick slid in easy after Q. Still, Nerd whined about it and made a fresh attempt to fight off the hoards of Skull Grunts before finally collapsing back into moans. His eyes were screwed shut, but his dick continued to throb.

The grunts hardly had anything in the way of stamina, but there were just two many of them to all get their fill of fresh civilian pussy. So while one was fucking him and another was tonguing his clit, 4 or 5 more would be jerking off from somewhere in the room, then rush forward to spray their loads across that pale, skinny body.

F himself had already sprayed one load on the floor and was working up to a second one when big, warm hand suddenly gripped his cock for him. The novice groaned a little, then looked to his left. Guzma’s evil smirk was just inches from his face. “Enjoyin’ the show, freshmeat?”

F let his hands drop to his sides, standing in place while the boss stroked him. “Fuck yeah, boss… This is the hottest thing I ever seen!”

Guzma’s grin widened a centimeter, and he gave his young initiate’s dick a good squeeze. “Not just gonna watch it, I hope… You ever gotten yer dick wet, boy?”   
  
F was panting while the boss stroked him, listening raptly to those sultry words and gently rocking his hips. “I’m always the one puttin’ out…” As he watched, perhaps the 7th grunt to pump a load in the intruder’s ass took his place and started hammering away.

“Oh yeah?” Guzma leaned in so close that even with all the noise, he only had to murmur to be heard, and F shivered with every word. “You wanna get some, then? Wanna finally fuck some pussy? _Ya wanna be a grunt?”_

F would have cum on the spot, had Guzma not suddenly clenched his dick so tight that he _strangled_ the cumshot back into the trainee’s needy balls. After an agonized moan, F called aloud, “Yes! I wanna be a Skull Grunt! I wanna be one of the Team!”

A hot little chuckle sounded in his ear. “Good boy…” Grunt number 7 shot his load presently, and before another could take his place, Guzma got everyone’s attention. “Alrighty boys, make some room at the front! Freshmeat here is gonna get some ass and earn his Skull S!” And from the pocket of his jacket, he produced a shiny new S medallion on a chain.

The roar of approval brought a flush to F’s cheeks. Hands reached out to jostle his shoulder, his head, his arms. Under claps, hoots, fist-bumps, and friendly punches on the shoulder, F was led around to stand between the skinny, trembling legs of the creature on the table. Here, he had a much better view of the intruder’s ruined hole, all dripping with seed.

Grunt 7, or… U or whatever he was called… gave F a hard pat on the shoulder. “Should be nice and easy for ya bro, we broke it in for ya!” Then he leaned in and spat right inside that gaping asspussy. Riding on the wave of excitement, F stepped forward, took hold of the Vic’s ankles just like the others had done-

“One last thing!” Guzma suddenly called. The noise died down significantly, but there was a low buzz of knowing murmurs and half-concealed grins through the crowd. F was frozen in place by his boss’s word, leaking a steady drip of pre into the nerd’s hole.   
  
“Before our boy here finally becomes a man,” the boss said, allowing a short pause for the chuckles to make their rounds, “we had better give our _guest_ a chance to wise up.” He bent over the pool table and rested a hand… almost tenderly on the Super Nerd’s tear-stained cheek, listening to his ragged breathing. “Yer somethin’ else, kid. Fer all that ya struggle and try ta bite, yer drippin’ like ya ain’t never been touched before. If ya like what yer feelin’ right now as much as ya seem to… then hell, forget I said anything. Just keep yer mouth shut, and we’ll be happy ta keep wreckin’ yer slutty ass. Ain’t nothin’ for a Vic to do except lay there getting’ raped into a braindead cumdump.   
  
“But if ya don’t like that… then you can join Team Skull and become one of my pretty, designer grunts. We’d be happy to turn that big ol’ clit o’ yers into a _real_ dick too. ‘s up to you, sweetheart. Ya gonna be a Grunt… or a Victim?” Then Guzma pulled the gag out of Vic’s mouth to let him speak.

The Super Nerd took a shuddery breath and worked his stiff jaws. His tongue explored his lips, and he seemed to make sure his mouth was in working order. Then he started to make motions as though he would answer. Guzma leaned in a little closer to catch the response.

Then the nerd said in a surprisingly demure tone, “I… would like… to leave…” 

Guzma blinked, then shook his head sadly. “Dumb bitch just don’t listen…” Then he looked up at F and gave him a nod.

As though the boss had just fired the starting shot, F thrust his hips forward and drove his needy dick up to the hilt in that slimy boipussy. His cock glided in with hardly any friction at all. It was almost unsatisfying… So leaned over the trapped Pokémon trainer, thought of Ezri’s Cinderace, and started pounding as if he were a machine. Vic squealed, the roomful of grunts cheered their comrade on, and F felt his climax fast approaching.

And seeing as the trainers mouth was free now, Guzma decided to go ahead and try it out for himself. By now, his vein-riddled dick was leaking enough pre to drown a bitch, and the nerd was helpless to keep his throat closed. F actually _saw_ his throat bulge as the boss’s dick invaded it, and his first thought was, ‘ _Fuck! Even I haven’t gotten to swallow the boss’s awesome cream yet. Lucky Vic…’_

Then he screwed his eyes shut, came up on tip-toe, and started draining his load into the intruder’s guts. Cheers rang out, and somebody gave him a slap on the ass. When he pulled out, a river of pearly jizz spilled out after his dick.

Then, about 3 separate pairs of hands forced F to his knees, snatched off his handkerchief, and pushed his face right into that sloppy asspussy. His mouth was already open with a gasp of surprise, and instinct made him drive his tongue into that soup of his and his brothers’ seed. His skin reverberated with the voices of the other grunts, cries of disgust mingled with those of admiration and celebration.

When he lifted his face up, a silver S medallion was in front of him. Behind it, Guzma was buried balls-deep in the nerd’s throat, and his voluminous load was leaking out the sides. “You’re one of us now, boy. You’re a grunt.”

Heart in his throat, F took the bright piece of metal in his hand. Then he kissed it with his cum-stained lips and held it up for all to see. Dozens of identical, fraternal hands pulled him up to his feet, and he had to hug at least 8 sets of shoulders before he could hang the medallion around his neck.

And just like that, the new recruit was gone. “Franky” was gone. There was just _F,_ the identical Skull Grunt whose name wasn’t even important. He was just one of the toys Guzma was using to play with his latest victim.

But for Vic, the Super Nerd whose real name nobody had bothered to learn, the night had only just begun. Without his glasses, he couldn’t have even picked Guzma out of the mass of black clothing – but he could certainly _taste_ him in the syrupy spunk that oozed around his mouth and seemed to be dulling his wits the longer he tasted it. He had a brief respite while the grunts were welcoming their newest member, but as soon as their attention wavered from that, Vic felt another assailant between his legs, and then a new cock was crammed down his aching throat.

Minutes upon hours rolled by. The scrawny nerd was so drenched in spunk, he looked like he’d been pulled out of a vat of glue. True to his word, Guzma’s boys had been very nice to his ‘boiclit,’ and a delightful warmth had begun to spread out from his messy bitch-cunt and work up every limb.

Occasionally, Guzma would lean in and say something to him with that warm voice of his and massage his creamy chest. Each time, Vic’s smile grew a little wider, and – although he couldn’t understand the questions being asked of him – he realized how good it felt to just nod his head and agree with whatever Guzma said. And each time he agreed, something new and pleasant happened to him.   
  
_“Yes…”_ Somebody came up to him with a pair of scissors and cut his ugly mop of black hair down to a short, manly length.   
  
_“Yes…”_ Somebody worked a loose, black shirt onto his cum-sodden upper body.

_“Yes…”_ A pair of impossibly pretty, bright red and blue underwear were worked up his legs – as far up as they could go without stopping the grunts from using his ass still.

_“Yes…”_ A pair of sneakers were slid onto his sticky feet, a handkerchief tied around his face, and a cap wrestled onto his matted haircut.

_“Yes…”_ Without bothering to question why, Vic sat up on the utterly-ruined pool table and found a mirror held where his near-sighted eyes were able to make out his own features.

At last, a question was asked of him that he understood. “Like what ya see?”   
  


Vic looked at the boy in the mirror. He saw a Team Skull Grunt sitting in front of him – no different from any other of the grunts around him except that he was drenched in spunk, his hair was the wrong color, and he lacked a grunt’s athletic build. He answered the question by pointing these failings out and frowning at himself sadly.

Guzma rubbed the back of the Trainer’s head. “Want me to fix you?”

The moment he began to think about it, Vic started to feel kind of bad… So he simply stopped thinking and nodded his head instead. “ _Yes… Boss…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear! That poor, ruined pool table!
> 
> ...... Yeah, I may have leaned a little heavy on the filthier keys of my keyboard there at the end. I'd revise it, but I really don't want to XD ..... maybe I will
> 
> Thank you for joining me and Inu on this little side-trip. 
> 
> Horny comments let me know you care!


End file.
